Flowers
by Ashleopard
Summary: John gets caught stealing Sherlock's flowers - how can he explain to the angry stranger that they're for his dead wife? Based off a prompt on tumblr - more info on that in A/N. Rated for mention of death.


**This is slightly different than what I usually write, but my friend and I saw a prompt for this on tumblr and she insisted I write it with johnlock and I just thought 'eh why not'. Anyway, credit for this prompt obviously doesn't go to me; the idea was from tumblr user 'awful-aus'. Check them out they seem to love ripping your heart out 3 (Also, I've never actually seen the entirety of BBC's Sherlock so disclaimer: if it is slightly OOC I apologize in advance) Anyway enjoy the fic I'll talk more about my other fics at the end!**

John stood in silence. It was spring. The air was heavily perfumed with the smell of flowers, carried to John on a damp breeze. The sky was a somber grey; it had started sprinkling only a few minutes ago, but the cool drops did nothing but soothe John's sweaty skin from the dense humidity. Part of him wanted nothing more than to walk back to his car, drive home and dry off. The other part, however, didn't mind the growing weight of his clothes. He almost smiled as he stood there, focusing on the sound of the rattling newborn leaves on the trees and the patter of rain as it feel on grass and stone.

Almost.

He sighed, shrugging a little deeper into his jacket. Mary loved days like these; where the air smelled rainy and sun was almost visible behind a thin layer of clouds. Maybe that was why he didn't want to leave. "I have to," he said to himself. "I have things to do. I'll see you soon."

Picking up the old flowers, he put new ones on the grave. These ones were a pretty blue color that seemed to go perfectly with the day. "Goodbye," he breathed, turning and walking quickly back to his car. He didn't look back as he buckled himself in and turned the car on. Shifting into drive, he accelerated a little too quickly down the greying road, eager to get out of the dreary cemetery. Maybe, if he could get away fast enough, he could leave it all behind him.

/

He hadn't intended it to be become a habit, it just didn't seem right to show up to a cemetery without flowers. The flower industry, however, seemed to understand this, and had decided to take advantage of the grief of mourning loved ones. Unfortunately for John, who tried to pay visits at least once a week, the flower bill was adding up quickly.

It was a sunny day when he first saw the flowers in his neighbor's garden. They were so pretty and innocent, just waiting to be picked. _That's not right,_ he told himself, tightening his grip on the paid flowers already in his hand. No, he couldn't just take someone else's flowers; that was theft. As he continued on his way, however, he couldn't help but think of all the unnecessary money going to waste every month just because of a few stupid flowers he could pick from almost any garden.

/

 _Not just any garden,_ he realized as he inspected the other gardens of his subdivision from afar. AS it turned out, most of the gardens seemed to include vegetables and small flowers as opposed to the larger flowers that were commonly preferred for cemetery visits.

The next time he went to visit the grave, he didn't buy flowers. Carefully checking around to see no one was watching, he quietly made his way forward to the flowers. _No one can hear me, this is ridiculous,_ he thought as his heart pounded out of his chest. _Just take the flowers and go quickly._

Leaving most of the flowers behind to avoid detection, he hurriedly began his way down the road. _Well, that wasn't so bad. Nobody's going to miss a few flowers, anyway. It doesn't hurt anyone, so why worry about it._

/

After that it became a sort of habit. He thought about it less and did it more – going through the actions just as he would on any other trip, excluding rainy days where he chose to take his car instead of walking. It was just when he was sure no one was going to detect him that someone did.

"And what do you think you're doing?" asked a brisk, male voice.

John's heart stopped in absolute terror and dread. He was crouching right next to the flowers, a few already in hand. "I – I am just admiring y – your flowers. They are quite lovely, I must say."

There were footsteps on the ground a few feet away. John looked up to see a tall, thin man looming over him, his eyebrow cocked slightly but his expression otherwise showing disinterest. "I need those flowers for a study I am conducting about the genetics of these particular flowers to test how and why they vary from those of their relatives. Explain to me why you feel the need to steal my data when it is so obviously in my garden."

John felt his face turning red as he began desperately trying to work his way out of this situation. "Well I – um – there's this girl at the-"

"A girl?" The man's eyes sparked with anger. "Is that so?"

John nodded soundlessly.

"Take me to her," the man demanded. "She better be bloody important to warrant such a crime as flower theft."

Not knowing what else he could say, John obliged. "Er – yeah. Sure. I was just… on my way to see her. You can come along, I guess."

The man pursed his lips, looking almost more displeased than before as he followed John out of the garden. John realized he was still holding a few of the flowers and tried not to panic as he considered what he should do with them. "Keep them," the man said snidely, seeming to have heard John's thoughts. "You have them now, you might as well."

John nodded. "What's your name?" he asked, trying to keep things as casual as he could.

"Sherlock Holmes," the man replied stiffly. "Yours?"

"John Watson."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Watson? That sounds familiar. Why does that sound familiar?"

John shrugged. "It was mentioned in the paper recently, if you read it."

He shook his head. "I'm not sure. Anyway, where does this girl live, exactly? I do hope it's not far; I do have things to work on today."

"She's just down the road here."

"And you're trying to win her back?"

John looked at him in surprise. "Whatever makes you think that?"

"Your eyes are glazed with dark bags beneath them, your shirt needs to be washed and you smell faintly of alcohol. I suspect the breakup must have been devastating – and recent. You moved in next door only a few months ago. Granted I've never gotten a good look at you, but you've been putting on weight and developing wrinkles that are uncommon for someone of your age. You must be under a lot of stress because you constantly act tired." Sherlock said all of this real fast, leaving John's head spinning. "So, are you trying to win her back?"

"Not exactly," he admitted. "I'm just… paying her a visit. Wishing her well. That sort of thing." Should he tell Sherlock where they were really going?

Sherlock was quiet for a moment. "That's an… unexpected statement, especially considering she was the one who did the leaving."

"It wasn't as if she had a choice," John said through clenched teeth. This Sherlock guy was starting to get on his nerves. "She had to move on eventually, it just maybe wasn't the most appropriate timing."

"Fascinating," Sherlock continued. "You think yourself so worthless that you never had a chance with her, yet here you are still brining her flowers. Stolen flowers, I might add."

"Just lay off it, will you?"

They'd stopped walking and were standing, glaring at each other. A few moment passed in absolute silence before John sighed and kept walking. He heard Sherlock mutter under his breath, "rude" but ignored it. He was in no mood to get into a row with this argumentative git. All he wanted was to put down the flowers, go home, and go to sleep. That was all. Instead he just had to end up stealing flowers from an obsessive maniac.

The cemetery was in sight when Sherlock spoke again. "Are we almost there?" His tone had taken that of a child's on a long road trip: irritated and bored.

"Almost," John told him quietly. "Just past these last few houses."

They kept walking at a brisk pace. Sherlock faltered as John walked straight instead of turning onto another street. John heard a deep exhale from behind him but didn't acknowledge it. There was a pause, then quick footsteps as Sherlock caught up.

Her grave was about a three minute walk in. The men neither spoke nor looked at each other. At last they reached the grave. John carefully knelt down and put flowers on the grave of his dead wife, Mary Watson.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock said as John stood up. "I wasn't aware-"

"It's fine," John interrupted. He didn't really want to talk about it.

Sherlock paused. "How long were you married?"

"Three years."

"That's not long."

"Unluckily so."

John could almost feel Sherlock's awkwardness as the other man tried to strike a conversation. "Next time you wish to steal my research, do ask beforehand. I'll pick the flowers for you so it doesn't have to interfere with my data."

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock glanced at John with something that was not quite annoyance. "You're welcome, Mr. Watson."

 **First of all thanks for reading! If you're new to my fanfiction because I usually don't write Sherlock stuff, I have a lot of Romione fics if you want to check them out. They're pretty standard stuff that I've written for fun so you might want to check them out :) Also, comments are appreciated!**

 **And if anyone here has heard I am trying to work on a Romione Hunger Games AU – that isn't very far along, but with summer break less than 24 hours away I anticipate on being able to throw myself into work with that!**

 **Thanks again for reading and have a nice day!**


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